


Masamune Mystery

by foreverHenry919



Category: Forever (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crimes & Criminals, Family Bonding, Fantasy, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Murder Mystery, Slow Romance, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverHenry919/pseuds/foreverHenry919
Summary: This fic continues from the end of the Pilot when Jo tells Henry that she requested him as her ME and they go off to investigate a death involving, supposedly, a famous sword missing since just after the Second World War.
Relationships: Abe Morgan & Henry Morgan, Jo Martinez & Henry Morgan
Comments: 42
Kudos: 41





	1. The Most Famous Sword in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I'm almost ready to publish the 5th Chapter of "A Ride-Along with Reece", this little story begged to debut. 
> 
> I do not own "Forever" TV show 2014-2015 or any of its characters.

As Jo drove Henry away from Abe's Antiques and over to the crime scene, he could hardly contain himself, thinking that a famous artifact may have finally been rediscovered. He couldn't help grinning from ear to ear when she'd granted his request and activated the sirens for a while. _"How old are you?"_ she'd asked after seeing his boyish excitement over being in her police car. All he offered her in response was a wide grin. 

Henry's exciting thoughts darted around in his head, each with a theory of its own as to the sword's probable journey from going missing after the Second World War and winding up in New York City.

_"It's sticking out of some guy's chest over on 32nd and Park,"_ she'd told him. 

It utterly appalled him, though, that someone would have used _it_ instead of an ordinary weapon to murder someone. 

"Are you certain that this is the legendary Honjo Masamune sword?" he asked her. 

"Well, it looks like it from what Hanson found on the Internet," she replied. "But I can't even pronounce it so ... don't take my word for it. He watches a lot of History Channel so he's pretty sure it is." 

History Channel. Hmmm. "I, ah, appreciate you asking me along, Detective," Henry told her. 

"Sorry to have interrupted your chess game," she apologized, smiling softly. 

"Oh, no problem. The game can keep," he assured her. "My absence should give my worthy opponent a chance to plan his next move --- albeit futile." 

"Ouch. Well, if your skill at chess is anything like your skill at crime-solving," she began, "I'd say that your opponent doesn't have a prayer." Having arrived at the crime scene, she parked the car and turned off the ignition. "His name is Abe, right? Is he your father?" she asked. 

"His actual name is Abraham," he replied. "He's not my father but he's my oldest and dearest friend." 

"Oh. Abe's Antiques," she said more to herself while recalling the name of the shop. She wanted to question him more about the elderly shopkeeper but they were at the crime scene now.   
  
They exited the car and walked closer, ducking under the yellow crime-scene tape. Jo told him that Hanson had already texted her the victim's identity: Hideo Tanaka, a private collector. She started to offer him an extra pair of blue gloves but saw him already donning his own. It didn't surprise her that this guy would come prepared. 

Henry snapped the gloves into place covering his wrists, and slowly approached the body of what appeared to be a man in his late 50s, resting on his right side with the sword's blade protruding eight inches out of his chest. The rest of the blade that was visible, protruded out of his back near his spine and just below his left shoulder blade, the hilt resting on the sidewalk. 

"You'd think there would be more blood than this," Jo commented regarding the sparse amount. "Which means he was killed somewhere else." 

Henry looked up at her from where he was bending over the corpse to examine the wound and rested back onto his heels. "Very good, Detective. That most certainly appears to be the case." He looked down at the victim again with brows knitted, lips pursed, and muttered, "No defensive wounds on his hands, no tears to his clothing other than where the blade entered and exited." 

"Meaning ... ?" 

He stood up but kept his eyes trained on the corpse. "Meaning he was attacked from behind. Blindsided. He had no chance to run away or to even fight back." His eyes took in the building's facade while he entertained a memory of how the building had looked in the early 1900s. Not much different from its present appearance. But despite the differing styles of dress and modes of transportation, the hustle and bustle of a determined mass intent upon turning the next dollar differed very little from that of the present. The memory washed away after a few seconds. 

"Notice the blade," he pointed out, returning his awareness to the crime scene. "It lacks the signature mark of a Masamune sword." 

"A fake," Jo said. 

"Not exactly," he replied. "You see, there are some very good replicas out there such as this one." 

"And you know this is not the real deal, how?" a skeptical-sounding male voice asked. 

Henry snatched his head to his right to see Jo's dark-haired official partner, Det. Mike Hanson, approach. 

"None of the replicas carry the unique Masamune signature," Henry began. "You see, 700 years ago, when he plunged the hot blade into cold water, he gave birth to a razor-sharp weapon. It was customary for centuries for an artist to meticulously draw the unique pattern called a hamon on the edge of a fine sword." 

Jo bugged her eyes at Hanson and opened her mouth slightly, then returned her attention to Henry. Hanson frowned at Henry as he spoke, not really sure if he should believe him but very sure that this curly-haired ME was a know-it-all. And he wasn't too fond of know-it-all's. 

Henry continued, lost in information-sharing mode. "In 1939, the Japanese declared the Honjo Masamune a national treasure and such finely detailed drawings of the hamon were made. If the actual sword ever appeared at an antique fair or auction, there could be no mistake." 

"This hamon was like a fingerprint or an artist's signature," Jo offered. 

"Precisely, Detective," Henry replied, impressed once again at how quickly this female sleuth absorbed and processed his admittedly sometimes complicated explanations. "I'll get the body back to the lab and get to work on the autopsy as soon as possible. Might I trouble you for the use of your cell phone?" 

"Yours out of commission?" she asked as she handed it to him. 

"Er, you might say that," he replied. He stepped a few paces away to call his young assistant, Lucas Wahl, and alert him to the impending arrival of a very interesting corpse. 

_("Aren't you officially off today, Boss?")_

"I was but I am officially back 'on'," Henry replied. "See you soon." He ended the call and handed Jo's phone back to her, thanking her. 

"You're definitely going to have to get yours working, you know," she told him as she pocketed the phone. 

Henry chose not to reply as he knelt once again beside the body. Grasping the sword's hilt (handle) and holding the body in place with his knee in its back and his other hand on its shoulder, he pulled slowly at the sword until it was completely removed from the victim's body. He handed it off to one of the CSU team members and oversaw the proper packaging of it for transport back to the lab. He walked back over to Jo and removed his gloves, stuffing them into a plastic bag and depositing it into his jacket pocket. 

"Weren't you afraid he would bleed out if you removed that?" she asked him. 

"I took a chance that he wouldn't since he had already somewhere else," he replied to Jo. 

"Why not just cut the blade on either end?" Hanson asked. "His expensive threads are already ruined," he added. 

"Expensive and quite tasteful; a blue Donegal sport jacket from the Paul Stuart line, Detective," Henry replied. 

Both Jo's and Hanson's eyes swept over Henry's style of dress, realizing they'd just learned where the always dapperly-dressed ME did his clothes shopping. 

"But it would have been a shame to have ruined such a remarkable weapon. We don't have the luxury of a swordsmith who could successfully rejoin the blade if it had been cut away from him." 

Jo nodded as she and Hanson exchanged looks again and processed the expert information that their new ME had shared with them. Jo and Henry got back into her car and drove them back to the precinct. Since no apparent witnesses to the crime had been found yet, she and Hanson had not been able to gather much information about it. One thing she had recently learned, though, was that Henry's observational skills and well of knowledge should prove just as invaluable as any eye witness account. 

vvvv 

Later on that afternoon in the morgue, Henry stood over the sword, admiring it as it lay on a steel examination table as if it were an expensive bauble from Tiffany's. Lucas' eyes swept over the five-foot length of the sword from hilt to blade tip in jaw-dropped wonder. Although Henry's outward reaction to it was more contained, his admiration for it was still evident. 

"What's so special about this sword if it's a fake?" Hanson asked. "You two are acting like it's the real deal." 

"Granted, it is not the actual Honjo Masamune," Henry conceded. "But it is still an intrinsically beautiful piece of art. Simply stunning," Henry breathed out, his mouth hung slightly open while his mind conjured up the original weapon's majestically-forged form. So balanced, it was. Light. Perfect. But very, very sharp and terrifying. And more ancient and eternal than he, himself. 

"What have you been able to find out about the provenance of this weapon?" Henry asked the detectives. 

Jo shook herself out of examining his slightly open mouth. "It was, um, last purchased by our victim at an auction," she replied with a gulp. "Still working on who previously owned it. According to Tanaka's son, Donald, the blade is over 600 years old."   
  
"Masamune was the swordmaker," Henry marveled. "Although not the famous Honjo," he quickly added. "Still ... a remarkable weapon, nonetheless." 

"We only have his word that it's that old," Jo pointed out. "Best to have it examined by another expert in ancient weaponry to confirm it." 

Henry hid a grimace at the thought of The Frenchman with her sly smile. She was the best expert in this area that he knew, though. "I, ah, believe I know just such an expert." It was his turn to gulp. 

vvvv 

The Frenchman's weaponry shop on Reade Street ... 

"Where did you get this?" The Frenchman asked Henry and Jo in a breathy tone as she examined photos of the sword. 

"It was used to kill a man," Jo replied. 

"That jerk outbid me for it last week," the woman gnashed out in a harsher tone, thrusting the photos back at them. 

Jo took the photos and showed the small, intensely confident Asian woman a morgue photo of the victim. "This the 'jerk' who outbid you?" she asked her. 

"Oh. My. Hideo Tanaka," the woman replied. "Yes. Claims ... well, claimed he was a private collector but he just turned up every few months at an auction, outbid everyone on a particulary exceptional item, and resold it almost immediately." She handed the photo back to Jo and as if anticipating Jo's next question, she said, "I have no idea what rock he crawled out from under every now and then to disrupt our auctions." 

"Sounds like he'd made a lot of enemies," Jo ventured. "I have to ask you ... where were you last night between 8:30 and midnight?" 

"St. Vincent's ER," she replied, pointing to her heavily-bandaged left wrist in a dark blue sling trimmed in white. "Suffered a clean break when I fell while ice skating. Members of my skating club and the hospital staff can vouch for me. Class started at 6:30, I broke it a little before 7:00. My niece, Dianne, drove me to Bellevue's ER. She's one of the skating instructors and stayed with me the whole time. We finally left the ER a little after 11PM and she drove me home. Stayed there with me until morning." 

"Must have been around 11:30PM when we got to my house. Those pain meds were so strong that they knocked me out until the next morning," The Frenchman replied. "Believe me, Tanaka may have been a jerk but murder is not my thing." 

"We'll need your niece's contact information to corroborate your story," Jo stated. The Frenchman complied and Jo gave her a card with her own contact information on it. 

The Frenchman playfully eyed the uncharacteristically silent ME. "Nice to see you again, Doctor," she said. "Give my best to Abraham, won't you?" 

He sheepishly nodded with a polite smile and the unofficial partners left and headed for the 11th Precinct. During the drive, Jo acknowledged that at least, besides a name for their victim, they had an occupation for him and a positive ID from The Frenchman that would explain how he may have come in contact with the sword. "Just have to find out where he lives or works and who his last customer was," she told Hanson over the phone. 

_("Ran him for priors," Hanson told her. "He's clean. But get this --- last time he was the highest bidder at an auction a week ago, cops had to be called to get another guy he'd outbid off of him.")_

She nodded. "We got a name of this outbid guy?" she asked. She nodded and said, "Okay, great." She ended the call and dropped her phone into the well of the key caddy between them, wheeling the car up to the light instead of parking at the precinct. "Possible suspect," she explained to Henry. "Parker Donaldson. World History professor at NYU. Threatened to kill Tanaka a week ago in front of a crowd of people at an auction house." 

"Let me guess. Tanaka outbid him for the replicant sword," Henry said. 

"You got it," Jo replied. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. "Quite a woman, this Frenchman," Jo said. "Really knows her stuff, too." 

"Right on both counts," Henry replied. 

"Known her long?" 

"She's actually known Abraham a long time," he replied. "This was my first time meeting her." At least in this century, he said to himself. 

"What's her, um, real name?" Jo asked as they paused at another red light. 

"The Frenchman." Jo looked at him with a frown of disbelief and confusion. "That is her legal name," Henry chuckled. He felt it best not to share what he knew was her birth name. He was afraid he'd have to also explain how he knew it. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Notes:   
Information on the Mystery of The Enigmatic Honjo Masamune Sword found at   
https://www.swordsofnorthshire.com/mystery-of-the-enigmatic-hanjo-masamune-sword   
Information on Paul Stuart mens clothing found at https://www.paulstuart.com/mens/71159062-4496.html


	2. A Masamune Mystery Ch 2

_"Possible suspect," she explained to Henry. "Parker Donaldson. World History professor at NYU. Threatened to kill Tanaka a week ago in front of a crowd of people at an auction house."_

vvvv 

Jo stood in front of the wooden desk across from Prof. Donaldson while Henry paced slowly around the office eyeing the various books, artifacts, and photos. One of a white-haired man, an older version of the professor, caught his eye. He picked up the photo for a closer look at it. It showed the man standing in what looked like a study with a small collection of bladed weapons mounted on a small area of one wall. 

Jo maintained an awareness of Henry's movements, wishing that he would rejoin her to help question the professor but also eager to know what information his astute observations were gathering. She watched Donaldson frown as he studied Tanaka's morgue photo. He sighed and picked up the photo, bringing it closer to him. He then handed it back to her with a condemning verdict. "The man was a fake." 

"Much like this collection of weapons in this photo?" Henry stated more than asked. 

Donaldson looked at Henry and deepened his frown. Schooling his features, he shifted his weight in his chair and grunted a stiff denial. 

Henry walked closer to stand by Jo, the photo in his hands. "You've never had the items appraised?" he asked as he gave the photo to Donaldson. 

"It wasn't necessary!" Donaldson snapped at him. "That collection took my father years to accumulate. I resent your implications, Sir. He was a first-rate collector and knew all about priceless artifacts." 

"And you ... ?" Henry asked, raising his head slightly. 

Donaldson sighed as he placed the photo on the desk in front of him. "He tried to teach me. Just ... didn't have the head or the heart for it, I guess," he replied with a shrug, clearly embarrassed. "Figured that the least I could do was pretend to understand what he did." He scoffed with a pained smile. "You know what they say about those who can, do. Those who can't ... " Teach is what he knew he didn't have to say.

The unofficial partners exchanged a questioning look before Jo returned to the reason for their visit. "What can you tell us about the victim, Mr. Tanaka?" she asked. "Other than him having been a fake," she quickly added. 

Donaldson virtually repeated what The Frenchman had told them about Tanaka. "He was just out to make a buck. The last auction he attended, I was there, too. Thought I had enough money to outbid him for once." Donaldson shook his head and ran his hand over his unruly, mingly-gray hair. "Guy always seemed to have deeper pockets than anyone else when he'd finally choose to bid on an item." 

"What was the item he had outbid you for?" Jo asked even though she suspected it was the replicant sword. When he confirmed her suspicions, she said, "You then threatened to kill him. In front of a roomful of witnesses." 

"I lost my head," he admitted. "We grappled with each other. Yeah, the police were called but I didn't kill him." 

"Where were you between 8:30 and midnight last night?" she asked him. 

"At a dinner, one of those boring fundraisers, for the University," he replied. "You haven't really suffered until you've partaken of room-temperature creamed spinach and under-cooked medallions of beef," he cynically informed them. 

"And your attendance can be verified?" Jo asked. 

"Why, sure," he replied. "One moment." He reached into his center desk drawer and pulled out a three-fold brochure announcing the fundraiser. He handed it to her and she handled it with blue gloves. "Is that really necessary?" he asked with a slight grin. "I mean you're handling it like it's ... evidence or something." 

"Just following protocol," she replied while reading it. She dropped it into a plastic evidence bag and zipped it up. Then, she handed it to Henry so he could read it. "And your attendance can be verified by either the organizers or some of the attendees?" she asked. 

"Sure, sure," he replied. "I was there all evening." 

They thanked him and left. As they walked to Jo's car, they shared their thoughts on their conversation with the Professor. 

"You're frowning," Jo stated. Henry turned his head slightly to look at her. "Means you're thinking. And if you're frowning and thinking, you have some doubts about his story." 

"Quite observant, Detective," Henry replied, both surprised and delighted that this woman he barely knew was beginning to recognize some of his behavior patterns. "That collection. Why would someone purported to be an expert at identifying ancient weaponry create a shrine to reproductions?" 

Jo shrugged slightly. "The fakes cost less? Maybe his father was simply a cheapskate," she speculated. 

"Perhaps," he somewhat agreed before they both got into her car.. 

"I hear a 'but' in there somewhere," she wryly noted.

He gave a soft chuckle before replying. "You hear correctly, Detective."

vvvv 

Sorry this chapter is so short but I have battling scenarios for how this story is going to turn. So, rather than have anyone still interested wait, I offer this for now. C'mon, typing fingers and jittery brain, git dat story down on paper!


	3. A Masamune Mystery Ch 3 More Suspects

Since the lunch hour had passed more than an hour ago, Jo chose to stop at the nearest food truck and ordered one of her favorites, a John John Deragon. She licked her lips as she eagerly watched the vendor smear cream cheese atop the scallions piled on the fried hotdog. Henry grimaced at the thought of it going into anyone's stomach but at the same time found himself pleasantly amused at the sight of her licking her lips. The decadent food item paid for, Jo happily walked away and took a big bite, moaning in delight.

Henry grimaced more and looked away from the hotdog in disgust but filed her reaction of delight away in his memory banks. He inwardly chastised himself for allowing her to distract him from the case.

"What's wrong?" she asked him after swallowing the tasty mouthful. "You're not hungry?" 

"Not any longer," he replied. 

"Look, when we're out in the field like this," she informed him, shaking the hotdog at him, "we grab a quick bite when we can. No telling when we'll have to drop everything and roll again." 

"I totally understand, Detective," he replied. "But I prefer real food cooked in a less convoluted manner." 

"Oh, wow," she scoffed. "Such a food snob!" She wiped her mouth with the napkin provided. "Well, you don't know what you're missing." 

"And if I'm lucky," he began, "I shall never know." 

Jo shook her head and chuckled. It was going to be quite interesting getting to know this man, she decided, despite his preference for more elegant cuisine and for having virtually insulted her own food choices. The scarf, the delightful British accent, the oldfashioned gold pocket watch he carried, and mannerisms a bit stiff still made up an incredibly handsome package. When she realized that they'd reached her car again and he was looking at her, waiting for her to unlock the door, she quickly did so. She swallowed her embarrassment and slid into the driver's seat, hoping that he wasn't aware that she'd been entertaining thoughts about him.

"Um, we should probably, um, talk to the victim's son about Prof. Donaldson," she proposed. "Find out what he knows about him and any other auction goers who may have had it in for his father." 

"From what The Frenchman and the Professor told us, there had to be quite a few more," he concluded. "Personally, I'd like to speak with the professor's father," he countered. "Have a close up look at that odd collection in the photograph." 

"Well, we can do both," she said. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and called her official partner, Det. Mike Hanson. "Hey, Mike, it's Jo. Dr. Morgan and I just came away from Prof. Donaldson. We're headed over to interview his father to see if --- Oh. Okay," she abruptly replied as she glanced quickly at Henry. "Well, then we're headed over to interview the victm's son, Daniel Tanaka." She listened to his response and nodded her head. "Sure. Bye." She ended the call with a sigh and pocketed her phone.

"Anything wrong?" he asked. 

"Prof. Donaldson's father died three weeks ago," she told him. "That's what Mike was telling me." 

"Sorry to hear that but ... can we still get into the home so I could get a look at that collection?" he asked. "That is, if it's still there." 

"Sure. No problem," she replied. "First let me call Tanaka to find out when he would be available later." 

vvvv 

Having obtained the last address of the elder Donaldson, the ME and the Detective soon arrived there and parked in front. As they exited the car and walked toward the entrance, they were surprised to see Daniel Tanaka exiting the residence. The sight of them seemed to at first startle him but he pulled himself together and waited for them as they approached him. 

"Daniel Tanaka," Jo greeted him, holding up her badge and identifying herself. "We spoke on the phone a few minutes ago." She clipped her badge back onto the waistband of her jeans. "Fancy meeting you here. Did you know the late Mr. Donaldson?" 

He scoffed. "Well, who didn't?" he replied. "He was a well-known and respected weapons collector. And before you ask, I merely came to extend my condolences to his widow." 

Jo and Henry looked at each other. "You must know his son, Prof. Donaldson, who teaches at NYU, then," Jo stated. 

"Him." Daniel scratched the side of his neck and sighed. "I've met him once or twice." He dropped his hand quickly and looked anxiously at them. "Are you going to arrest him for killing my Dad?" he asked. 

They exchanged another look before Jo replied that he was only one of several suspects and no arrests had been made yet. 

"You must know by now that he argued with Dad shortly before he was killed," Daniel said, anger and sadness darkening his face. 

"Yes," Jo replied. "Apparently, he wasn't the only auction-goer who had an axe to grind with your father, though." She watched his reaction before asking him if he knew who else that might be. 

Daniel seemed to rein in a bit of his anger before replying, "A lot of people, I guess." He quickly stoked his anger back up and looked her in the eyes. "But Prof. Donaldson was the only one who actually threatened to kill him! That should put him at the top of your list!"  


'We were on our way inside to check something out," Jo told him, eyeing him up and down. 

Daniel let out a mirthless guffaw. "That pitiful collection hanging on the wall in the study?" he asked. 

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Henry replied, surprised. "We were curious to find out why it was so prominently displayed in the home of such a renown expert as if it contained genuine artifacts." 

"Well, I can help you with that," Daniel said. He walked back up the stairs and knocked on the door. Jo and Henry followed close behind him. "You'll flip when you hear the story behind that collection and you'll race to arrest the professor." 

vvvvvvvv

NOTES: Okay, I promised a longer chapter but working with a regular keyboard and mouse hooked up to this tablet with a tiny, 7-inch screen is blearing my vision. So I type what I can and offer what I can in small pieces until my new laptop with a bigger screen arrives. Should have been here by now. Maybe it was a scam site I ordered it from :BooHoo!

Wash hands often and stay inside as much as possible til the coast is clear. God bless us all.


	4. A Masamune Mystery Ch 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and Jo meet Prof. Donaldson's widowed mother and she contradicts what he had told them about his father being an expert weapons collector. Henry gets a look at the collection of fakes.

The door to Prof. Donaldson’s late father’s home was opened by a white-haired man in his 60’s, obviously the butler. He recognized Daniel Tanaka as a recent visitor. 

“Did you forget something, Sir?” he stiffly asked Tanaka, briefly eyeing Jo and Henry standing behind him. 

“Uh, no, Simmons,” Tanaka replied, smiling politely. He then introduced Jo and Henry without their titles. “They’ve also come to pay their respects to Mrs. Donaldson on the recent passing of her husband.” 

Simmons eyed the pair again, narrowing his eyes a bit. “I’m afraid Mrs. Donaldson isn’t available at the moment,” he informed them with a bit of snootiness in his voice. 

Tanaka glanced briefly at Jo and Henry and appeared a bit embarrassed at the unexpected pushback he was encountering. “Simmons, I just left here not five minutes ago. Please inform Mrs. Donaldson that we’re here,” he strongly requested. 

The butler shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sir.” He then started to close the door. 

Just when they thought it would be better to “badge up” in order to gain entry, they heard a soft, female voice from further back in the house. 

“It’s alright, Simmons,” she said. “Let them in.” 

Tanaka directed an “I-told-you-so" smile at the two and then allowed Jo to enter first. Once inside, Simmons closed the door and turned to face Mrs. Donaldson, the lady of the household. She raised a hand to stop him when he attempted to announce them, and quietly dismissed him. 

A woman, apparently his age-appropriate widow, stood in the foyer near the bottom of the elegant staircase. Pleasantly plump with short, silver-white hair and bright blue eyes, her gaze flickered over Jo and Henry from head to toe. 

“Patricia Donaldson,” she told them and extended her hand, shaking theirs. “Join me in a drink?” she asked. Before they could reply, she turned around and they followed her into the large living room. 

“No, thank you, Mrs. Donaldson,” Jo replied. They watched her uncomfortably while she walked behind the bar and appeared to replenish her drink. She took a long sip and looked them over again. 

“No drinking on the job, right?” she stated more than asked, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. Jo, a bit surprised at having her cover blown so quickly, opened her mouth to reply but Patricia continued. “The police have already been here questioning me.” She took another long sip and pressed the rim of the glass against her cheek, a vacant look in her eyes. 

“People, the police, naturally assume that I, as the surviving spouse, may have had something to do with his death,” she cynically stated before gulping down the rest of the amber liquid in her glass and just as quickly replenishing it. “They obviously think that I caused his fatal stroke but since they couldn’t get a confession out of me,” she started, her words beginning to slur, “you two are the third wave.” 

The less-than-grieving widow walked around to the front of the bar and sat on one of the tall bar stools. She pointed a finger at them while still holding the glass. “Are you going to brow beat the truth out of me?” she asked. “I warn you, if you are, I’d rather you do it (pointing at Henry). You have nice eyes and … it might even be fun.” She giggled softly and leaned back against the bar. 

Before Jo could say anything, a concerned Henry stepped closer to Patricia and gently took the glass from her, setting it down on the bar. “We’ve come to do no such thing,” he quietly assured her. “But it’s clear that we’ve come at a bad time. We’ll leave you to your grieving and … sorry for your loss.” He turned to Jo, meeting her confused gaze and shook his head almost imperceptibly as he continued toward the door. 

As Patricia watched them leave, she called after them. “My husband was a fraud, you know. For so long, he took credit for my work.” Having gotten their attention, she continued. 

“My father wanted a son but he got me. So, he taught me everything he knew about ancient weaponry. How to find them, identify them, collect them. But he died penniless. Left me nothing. Nothing but his love and expertise. Don’t misunderstand me, I loved my husband dearly and gladly allowed him to take the spotlight and the credit for my work. The small minds of those intellectual giants would never have accepted a woman into their ranks. So … he and I devised a plan. It all worked out so well for so long. That is, up until the last few years.” 

“He began to operate, albeit unsuccessfully, on his own,” Henry said, his hands clasped behind his back. 

Surprised, Patricia looked at him again and asked, “How --- would you know that, young man?” 

Henry ducked his head a bit and cleared his throat. “The, ah, small collection on the wall in the study. Your son has a photo of your husband posing in front of it in his office.” 

“I’m surprised he would even display that photo,” she said more to herself, lowering her eyes. “Certainly, nothing to be proud of.” Looking back up at him, she said, “Phillip started taking possession of some really beautiful but worthless pieces. He simply had no eye for what was truly old and valuable and wouldn’t allow me to be the, um, ‘front man’ for him any longer.” She sighed, eyeing the well-stocked bar for a moment. 

“Instead, he began to depend on our son, who is even less of an expert than he was.” She scoffed and imitated her late husband’s deeper, gruffer voice lauding their son’s ability. “Time for me to rest, he told me. Parker and I can take it from here.” The silver-haired lady scoffed. “Poor Parker. He did try. And he almost outbid Daniel’s father, Hideo, for that beautiful Japanese sword. Despite what Daniel may think, I don’t believe for one moment that my son killed his father,” she strongly asserted. 

“I don’t hold anything against you, Daniel,” she told him. “You are grieving the loss of a loved one just as I am.” Daniel said nothing and lowered his eyes, his hands clasped in front of him. 

Jo glanced at Henry and then back at Patricia. “Do you mind if we have a look at that wall collection in the study? My partner,” she said, motioning toward Henry, “is a bit of an expert and would like to see it up close.” 

“That worthless collection? Why, whatever for?” she asked. “Well, knock yourself out, as you young folks say. Simmons will show you the way. But you can take no pictures,” she warned them. “See to it that they don’t,” she instructed Simmons. 

The three of them thanked her and followed Simmons into the study. 

Fifteen minutes later, they followed Simmons to the entrance and he opened the door for them. 

“Hope you saw what you were looking for,” Jo told Henry as they walked down the steps. 

“Yes,” he replied. “But it would help to have pictures that captured them up close.” 

“Would this help?” Tanaka asked as he held up his cell phone and showed them the photos he’d taken. 

vvvv

Notes: This story is slowly developing, hence another short chapter. For instance, I first had the elder Donaldson’s widow more than 40 years his junior but not a gold digger. Changed her look from a sultry young thang  throwin ’ the drinks back, to an age-appropriate woman  throwin ’ the drinks back. But it won’t be long  til the end. Thanks to all of you for your continued interest.


	5. A Masamune Mystery Ch 5

Abe’s Antiques, later that same evening … 

“So, what do you think?” Henry asked his son, his impatience growing as he waited for his verdict. “Do you see the same thing that I do?” 

“Well,” Abe began, “out of the eight daggers and knives, only two appear to be authentic antiques.” 

Seated behind the retail counter with reading glasses pushed down to the end of his nose, he peered up at his father, who was standing on the other side of the counter. Thanks to the precinct’s tech unit, they now had 8” x 10” enlargements of the two photos Daniel Tanaka had managed to clandestinely capture on his cell phone. 

Abe turned the photos upside down and side-by-side so Henry could properly view them. “This one here on the bottom looks like a replication of the gold dagger found in King Tut’s tomb. It was made by a guy named Buster Warenski with a cast gold blade. The knife contains 32 ounces of pure gold!” 

Henry looked at it, utterly fascinated. “Yes. Although not nearly as valuable as the Masamune reproduction, it is still quite valuable even without the gold and red sheath.” 

“And these,” Abe continued, pointing to the three pictured just above the Warenski dagger. “They’re each modern reproductions of medieval daggers dating from the 1930’s. This one’s a Ballock dagger, this one’s a Rondel dagger, and this one’s a Quillon dagger,” he said, pointing to each one as he named them. 

Impressed, Henry raised up and grinned at him. “The Frenchman would be proud of her pupil,” he declared teasingly. 

Abe shot him a mock glare. “Do you want me to continue or not?” he grumbled. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Henry quickly replied, taming his grin. “Please. Continue.” 

Abe cleared his throat and pointed to a short, sword-like weapon at the top of the next photo. Its grip had two pronounced guards at a right angle on either side of the handle like two vertical bars of the letter H. “This is a baselard,” Abe explained. “Dates from the 14th century.” 

“It’s authentic?” Henry asked, surprised. 

“Yup,” Abe replied. “Er, these,” he said, pointing to two smaller daggers below it, “ten bucks apiece on eBay.” He shrugged when Henry frowned. “Nice-looking, though,” he conceded. “They’ve got a wrapped hilt and intricately-detailed blades but … meh.” 

“Last but not least,” Abe started as he pointed to the blade below the two cheap daggers, “this is what’s called an Excalibur blade; like the one that the Lady of the Lake gave to King Arthur. It’s beautiful. It bears the dragon --- “ he abruptly stopped speaking when his father interrupted him. 

“ --- of the Pendragon family on its elaborately-carved pommel,” Henry said, interrupting him. “It also features Arthur's name, and the word "Excalibur" in a circle around the dragon. The overall length of this dagger is 14.5 inches with a 9-inch, unsharpened stainless blade.” Henry stared at it in awe. “Oh. I’m sorry, Abe, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Abe said as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You seem to know more about this one than I do. Continue.” 

Henry chuckled, slightly embarrassed. “Well, it’s great that the sheath is not missing. Here you can see it bears throat and tip embellishments of ornately-gilded metal. These were and still are extremely popular groomsmen's gifts and wedding gifts.” 

Abe smiled and narrowed his eyes as a thought hit him. “Did you ever own an Excalibur, Pops?” 

“Yes, as a matter-of-fact,” he replied. “They were gifted to me in my several turns as a groomsman, twice as a best man, and once as a groom.” 

Abe’s eyebrows shot up. “Groom. As in … “ 

“As in my marriage to Nora,” Henry admitted, not caring to elaborate. 

Abe uncrossed his arms and sat forward resting his forearms on the desk. “I don’t remember any antique daggers in the house when I was growing up.” 

“Abe, you were a child!” Henry reminded him. “The kitchen knives were dangerous enough to have around a curious, growing boy.” 

“Oh. Well, what did you do with them?” he asked. “Sold them, I hope.” He hated to think that they may have been left behind during one of their many moves while he was growing up; or during one of Henry’s many “runs” before he’d met Abigail and him. 

“Yes, I sold them,” Henry quickly replied and gathered up the photos just as quickly. 

“Hope you got your money’s worth,” Abe said. “Who’d you sell ‘em to?” 

“Does it matter?” Henry brusquely replied. “It was so long ago. Thank you, Abraham. Your input has helped quite a bit.” 

Abe knew when his father was being evasive. “C’mon, Pops. Who’d you sell ‘em to?” 

Henry took in a deep breath and released it, his eyes reluctantly meeting Abe’s. “The, ah, British Museum in London. They paid a handsome sum and I used some of the proceeds to book passage on the Queen Anne for you, Abigail, and me to come to America. The collection may most likely still be in the museum to this day.” 

That information appeared to satisfy Abe and Henry breathed a sigh of relief. For what he failed to include was the name of the curator he had dealt with at that time: Hugo Berkowitz, the grandfather of Abe’s nemeses, the Berkowitz brothers. 

vvvvvvvv 

**Notes** : Information on the Warenski dagger found on [ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dagger#Art_knives ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dagger#Art_knives)

Information on the Ballock, Rondel, and Quillon daggers found at [ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dagger#Antiquity ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dagger#Antiquity)

Information on baselards found at [ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baselard ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baselard)

Description of ancient dagger with wrapped hilt found at [ https://www.spirithalloween.com ](https://www.spirithalloween.com/product/ancient-dagger/161776.uts?Extid=sf_froogle&gclsrc=aw.ds&&mrkgcl=267&mrkgadid=3367914148&utm_campaign=RKG-Shopping-Accessories-Generic&utm_medium=paid&utm_source=bing&utm_term=ProductType2toysCustomLabel4&utm_content=Toys&utm_inex=e&product_id=01386903&crtp=paidsearch&creative=73942395097014&device=c&matchtype=e&msclkid=dca64a7cee711f605da714acb2c8d8d2&gclid=CKr0yfn51-kCFRirxQIdZycOkQ&gclsrc=ds)


	6. A Masamune Mystery Ch 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team now includes Henry, and Prof. Parker Donaldson moves to the top of their list of suspects as the killer of Hideo Tanaka.

After having examined the photos of the daggers from the Donaldson home, Abe closed up the shop and he and Henry retreated to the second floor living quarters. Dinner, a hearty beef stew, was simmering in an electric crockpot on the counter near the stove. The delicious aroma filled the room, causing their mouths to water as they eagerly dished out portions into bowls and settled down at the kitchen table to eat. 

The electrical appliance was not as horrid as the microwave was in Henry’s point of view but he still preferred using the stove to cook food --- not the hearth or a campfire, as his son sometimes jokingly accused. The fact that it resembled the crockpot Abigail had used during the last ten years of their marriage, gave it an added layer of acceptability. 

As they ate the stew along with French bread, green salad, and red wine, they exchanged ideas about the daggers and how, if at all, they had any connection to the murder of Hideo Tanaka. 

“Sad to say,” Henry began, as he paused after breaking off a piece of bread and buttering it, “money is usually at the root of one person’s aggression toward another. In this case, since the descriptions on the mountings for the less valuable daggers do not appear to match them, it makes me wonder what may have happened to the originals?” 

“This, uh, old guy Donaldson, who died,” Abe threw out, “maybe he simply sold them like you did.” 

“And replaced them with reproductions?” Henry asked. “For what purpose?” 

Abe shrugged as he popped a piece of buttered bread into his mouth. “Maybe he meant to eventually get ‘em back.” 

Henry nodded, pondering that possibility before another spoonful of stew. “Fortunately, Detective Martinez and her partner, Detective Hanson, are looking into the finances of our victim, as well as our list of suspects.” He took a sip of wine and set the glass back down. “I’m sure that they will be able to uncover something that will help us crack the case.” 

Abe chuckled. “Crack the case. A couple of days as an amateur sleuth and you’re talking like Steve McGarrett. Betcha can’t wait to say, ‘Book ‘im, Dano’.” And he laughed harder. 

“Officially,” Henry replied, raising his voice over his son’s laughter, “I am a consultant. And if anyone would issue such a statement about taking a suspect into custody, it would be the detectives, not I.” 

“Just kidding, Dad,” Abe said, ramping down his laughter. “I’m … proud of you … for helping the police. Hope this isn’t just a one-time thing. Especially since your new, uh, partner, is so pretty.” He grinned slyly at his father and waited for his reaction. “Don’t you think?” he asked him. “Pretty?” 

“Yes, Abraham, she’s … very attractive,” he managed to say. “But her pleasant appearance has nothing to do with me wanting to help solve this case.” 

“Oh, sure,” Abe agreed, unconvinced. “Uh, what’s her name?” 

Henry sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Jo. Jo Martinez.” 

“Awww, Jo and Henry,” Abe sighed out with a smile. “Henry and Jo,” he happily tried the name-pairing another way. 

“Abraham,” his father said with a tired, warning tone. 

“Just getting used to the sound of it; your names together,” his mischievous son explained, feigning innocence. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” When Henry lowered his head a bit and leveled a reproachful look at him, he said, “I’m just sayin’ that it would be nice for you to have a nice friend like her to spend time with --- on and off the job. You can call her --- “ He paused when the landline phone rang. “ --- or she can call you.” His smile broadened and he crossed his arms over his chest when he heard Henry greet the caller. 

“Yes, hello, J --- Detective.” Henry turned his back to his chuckling son. “Is it, ah, really necessary for you to … Oh, no, no, no. It’s no trouble at all … See you soon, then.” He hung up the phone and hesitated before he slowly turned around and walked back into the kitchen. 

“I shall forego having dessert, Abraham,” he said as matter-of-factly as he could while gathering up his dishes. “Detective Martinez will be arriving soon to discuss the case.” He finally looked at Abe. “While she’s here, I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from making any more of your silly remarks.” He then placed the dishes in the sink and walked down the stairs to wait in the empty shop for her. 

“Silly? Hmphf!” Abe grumbled to himself as he finished the kitchen cleanup. “More like prophetic,” he said out loud to himself. “But as stubborn as you are, Pops, it’s gonna be a helluva time convincing you of that.” 

A little more than 15 minutes later, Jo’s car rolled up outside the shop and Henry left his seat next to the table with the in-progress chess game on it to let her in. After she parked and got out of the car, she walked quickly up to the open door and a smiling Henry. 

“Hey, Henry,” she greeted him as she stepped inside and he closed the door. “Um, don’t lock it,” she told him, motioning toward the door. “On my way over here, Mike phoned me with an interesting tidbit about our Prof. Donaldson. Turns out he may have lied about being at that fundraising dinner the whole time.” 

“Really?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. 

She nodded with a slight smile but a determined look on her face. “Wanna join me while I go question him again?” 

“Just give me a moment to get my coat and scarf,” he told her, returning her smile. 

On the drive over to Prof. Donaldson’s home near the university where he taught, Henry filled her in on what he and Abe had come up with regarding the elder Donaldson’s dagger collection. 

“It’s not inconceivable that someone was selling the valuable artifacts and replacing them with inexpensive reproductions,” he told her. “And since Mrs. Donaldson said that her husband had begun bringing worthless objects home --- “ 

“ --- they could have been switched out with the fakes from the beginning,” Jo finished for him. 

“Precisely, Detective,” Henry said, pleasantly impressed. He hadn’t spent time with a woman who could finish his thoughts so completely since … since Abigail. His son’s words came back to him: Jo and Henry. Henry and Jo. But he mentally whisked the words away when he realized she was speaking. 

“ … and, according to Mike,” she was saying. 

“Mike?” 

“Hanson. My partner,” she told him. “His name is Mike.” 

“Ah, yes,” he replied, slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten the fellow’s name but it had temporarily escaped him while he was dealing with thoughts of … the lovely woman next to him, possibly partnering with himself in a decidely different way. “Sorry. Please continue.” 

A smile quickly showed and faded on her face. “Anyway, he found out that Prof. Donaldson’s bank account has been mostly in the red for the past few years,” she shared. 

“That would just about coincide with when his late father began partnering with him instead of his mother to procure artifacts,” Henry speculated. 

Jo nodded and said, “His bank balance took an especially deep dive right around when our vic outbid him for the Masamune replicant sword.” She glanced over at Henry and then back to the traffic in front of her. “He had apparently let a small nest egg build up, then withdrew it in the form of a cashier’s check in anticipation of obtaining the sword at the auction.” 

“He may have had a buyer lined up already that was willing to purchase it at a much higher price,” Henry speculated more. “Our victim,” he emphasized, shooting a purposeful look at Jo, who rolled her eyes, “beat him once too often to the punch.” 

“And had to pay for it,” Jo added. 

“Sad,” Henry said. Mrs. Donaldson, recently widowed, may have to face losing her son, as well, to murder charges and a long prison term. “Did, ah, Mike find anything else out about the professor’s troubled finances?” 

“Oh, not much,” she said, doing her best to hide a smug smile. “Just a history of gambling debts at the Showboat, an Atlantic City casino.” 

“Gambling,” Henry repeated with a slight frown. “How would he have been able to escape going to jail for not paying his debts?” he asked. The horrid conditions of the various debtor’s prisons in his native country in the 1800’s came to his mind again. 

“Oh, you don’t go to jail for that,” Jo told him. “If he were selling valuable assets and using the money to pay off the debt.” 

“That’s if he hadn’t already sold them to get more money for gambling,” Henry stated. “Furniture, electronics, jewelry, or even his car are all items that could be sold to pay off the debt.” 

They put a brake on their conversation when they pulled up to Prof. Donaldson’s home and saw Hanson waiting for them out front. Jo parked and they exited the car and joined him. They soon learned that he had been waiting for Jo. Just her. Hanson awkwardly greeted them and then turned his attention to Jo. 

“Excuse us for a sec, Doc,” he said, managing a smile at Henry. 

“Certainly,” Henry replied, dipping his head and clasping his hands behind his back. 

Hanson pulled Jo a few paces away from Henry. “Did I miss something? Is Sir Scarf-a-lot gonna join us in the field from now on?” 

“He’s a medical examiner, Mike,” she replied, a bit annoyed at his annoyance. “It’s not uncommon and you know it.” 

“Yeah; to look at a dead body,” he pointed out. “Not to question suspects or witnesses.” 

“He has great powers of observation,” she retorted. “Have you forgotten already how much he helped us in the subway crash investigation?” 

“Yeah, but … I am your official partner; and I’m pretty darn good at what I do,” he reminded her and she closed her eyes and nodded. He straightened up a bit and took Henry in over his shoulder, then looked back at her. “You really want this guy with us,” he stated more than asked. She nodded again and he sighed resignedly. “Okay. Have it your way. But tell me … what’s he got that I haven’t got?” 

Jo chuckled softly and tilted her head while eyeing Henry as he pretended to be more interested in the building’s façade and the surroundings. “Besides a keen eye for details,” she began, “a beautiful accent to go along with his beautiful scarves and --- a great ass.” 

As she walked back to join Henry, Hanson followed a step behind muttering facetiously to himself about how much he admired her professionalism. 

vvvvvvvv 

Notes: Information on gambling debts and repayment found at [ https://search.yahoo.com/search;_ylt=Awr9Dun99dJe54IAaRdXNyoA;_ylc=X1MDMjc2NjY3OQRfcgMyBGZyA3lzZXRfY2hyX3N5Y19ocC1zBGZyMgNzYi10b3AEZ3ByaWQDaU9uM3R1V0hTY2lIbDdqNGY5SU14QQRuX3JzbHQDMARuX3N1Z2cDNARvcmlnaW4Dc2VhcmNoLnlhaG9vLmNvbQRwb3MDMARwcXN0cgMEcHFzdHJsAzAEcXN0cmwDNTYEcXVlcnkDd2hhdCUyMGhhcHBlbnMlMjBpZiUyMHlvdSUyMGNhbid0JTIwcGF5JTIwZ2FtYmxpbmclMjBkZWJ0cyUyMGF0JTIwYSUyMGNhc2lubwR0X3N0bXADMTU5MDg4NDAzNw--?p=what+happens+if+you+can%27t+pay+gambling+debts+at+a+casino&fr2=sb-top&fr=yset_chr_syc_hp-s&fp=1 ](https://search.yahoo.com/search;_ylt=Awr9Dun99dJe54IAaRdXNyoA;_ylc=X1MDMjc2NjY3OQRfcgMyBGZyA3lzZXRfY2hyX3N5Y19ocC1zBGZyMgNzYi10b3AEZ3ByaWQDaU9uM3R1V0hTY2lIbDdqNGY5SU14QQRuX3JzbHQDMARuX3N1Z2cDNARvcmlnaW4Dc2VhcmNoLnlhaG9vLmNvbQRwb3MDMARwcXN0cgMEcHFzdHJsAzAEcXN0cmwDNTYEcXVlcnkDd2hhdCUyMGhhcHBlbnMlMjBpZiUyMHlvdSUyMGNhbid0JTIwcGF5JTIwZ2FtYmxpbmclMjBkZWJ0cyUyMGF0JTIwYSUyMGNhc2lubwR0X3N0bXADMTU5MDg4NDAzNw--?p=what+happens+if+you+can%27t+pay+gambling+debts+at+a+casino&fr2=sb-top&fr=yset_chr_syc_hp-s&fp=1)


	7. A Masamune Mystery Ch 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prof. Parker Donaldson is arrested and charged with the murder of Hideo Tanaka. Case closed ... right?

The trio stood in the hallway outside the door of Prof. Parker Donaldson’s ninth floor room in the Washington Square Hotel. Jo knocked on the door and called out to him, identifying themselves. 

“We’d like to talk to you, Professor,” she said loudly, her head bowed in front of the door as she listened to hear any movement from inside. “Professor? Professor Donaldson.” The door opened and the professor eyed all of them, his gaze settling on the familiar faces of Henry and Jo, then on Hanson holding his badge up for him to see. 

“You remember us, don’t you?” Jo asked him, referring to Henry and her. He said yes. “This is my partner, Det. Mike Hanson. May we come in? Just have a few more questions for you,” she said when he appeared to hesitate. 

“Alright, but I’m due at another fundraiser,” he told them. When they reacted to his open-shirted, casual attire, he added, “Not a black-tie affair, more of a garden party.” They remained standing as he seated himself on the bench in front of the mirrored vanity, facing them. “So. What is it you want to know?” he said, releasing a sigh. 

“The last time we spoke,” Jo began, “you told us that you never left the previous fundraiser the same night that Hideo Tanaka died.” 

“That’s right,” he replied. “I even gave you that brochure that contained the guest list so you could contact anyone you wanted in order to corroborate my story.” 

“Story. Funny you should say that,” Jo dryly remarked. “My partner (indicating Hanson), did contact the coordinators and they told us something very interesting about the menu that night. You complained about the, um, ‘ room-temperature creamed spinach and under-cooked medallions of beef’,” she reminded him. 

The professor raised his eyebrows, shook his head slowly, and spread his hands, obviously confused. “Why would that be important?” he asked. 

“This is why,” Hanson replied. He pulled a slender piece of paper, a third of the width of the brochure, out of his pocket and handed it to the professor. “That’s an insert that was passed out by the caterer because they had to announce a last-minute menu substitution. Go ahead, read it.” 

The professor reluctantly read it, his brow knitting tighter and tighter. “I … I don’t … understand.” 

“They made the announcement and passed these inserts out to all in attendance,” Jo explained. “But you didn’t know about that because you weren’t there. You were somewhere else.” 

“So, I didn’t stay,” he replied antagonistically. “Those things are a pain in the neck. I made up an excuse like I usually do almost as soon as I got there and left.” 

“Where did you go?” Hanson asked, taking the insert back from him and pocketing it. 

“Does it matter?” he asked, clearly agitated. 

“Hideo Tanaka, the man you fought with shortly before his death, was killed sometime between 8:30 and midnight,” Henry said. “Since the caterer’s announcement was made around 8:15 and shortly after you had left, you wouldn’t have known about the menu change. And you would have had ample time to leave, kill Tanaka, and return to the fundraiser just in time to emerge from the men’s room to give the impression to others that you had spent the entire evening in there.” 

“You killed him, didn’t you?” Hanson asked. “Careful what you say next,” he warned the professor. “This city’s  swarmin ’ with all kinds of surveillance cameras and you better be sure we’ve gone through ‘ em and our Tech Unit is still goin’ through them. My bet is we find your mug under that grey mop of yours on at least one of ‘em.” 

Parker Donaldson’s tense shoulders eventually drooped and he lowered his eyes to his hands nervously gripping each knee. He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “I didn’t kill him.” After a couple of deep breaths, he opened his eyes and said, “I did dump his body in front of that building, though, to throw off the cops.” 

“If you didn’t kill him, who did?” Jo asked, skeptical. 

“All I can tell you is that I got a call a few minutes after I arrived at the fundraiser. The person needed my help.” 

“Who?” Jo asked again. 

“My father!” he exclaimed. 

“You’re  puttin ’ the blame on your own dead father?” Hanson asked, frowning. “Why would he  wanna kill Tanaka?” 

“Because --- because --- Tanaka threatened to tell Mom and, and everyone about his gambling; about the fakes in his collection,” the professor responded. “That he was a fake. It would have ruined his reputation. Believe me, I did what I could for the past 20 years to help him cover his gambling debts so Mom, no one, would find out.” 

“You were selling the true artifacts and replacing them with reproductions of lesser worth,” Henry stated. 

“Yes, yes, but to help Dad!” the professor replied. “That  Masamune replicant sword would have fixed everything if I hadn’t been outbid by Tanaka. He was the fake collector, not Dad. He outbid me and blew the deal I had set up with a genuine collector in Hong Kong.” 

“Stand up, please, Professor,” Hanson said. The professor complied and Hanson cuffed him and read him his rights. 

vvvv 

Prof. Parker Donaldson was taken downtown and booked on suspicion of murder. Although he admitted to moving Tanaka’s body after he was dead, he maintained his innocence for his murder. 

“Thanks for your help, Doc,” Hanson said as he locked up his desk and readied to leave the bullpen. “We can all go home now. Case closed.” He bid Jo and him goodbye and headed out toward the elevators. 

Jo looked up at Henry, who seemed to be deep in thought. “I’ve seen that look before,” she said. “You’re not sold on his guilt, are you?” 

He took in a deep breath and released it before replying. “No, not for murder.” 

“Well, hopefully, the truth will all come out at his trial,” Jo said in an effort to ease his mind. 

They walked to the elevator together and rode it down to the lobby and got off at the same time that Lucas got off a different elevator. He greeted them and asked if they would care to join him at McSorley’s but they both declined. Just as they all walked outside the building, Lucas pointed something out that neither of them had considered. 

“What a coincidence that the professor’s and both his parents’ first names all begin with a ‘P’,” he casually mentioned. 

The ledger detailing gambling debts owed included those of a ‘P. Donaldson’ at the Showboat casino in Atlantic City. Henry and Jo looked at each other in a joint ‘A-ha’ moment. 

“Thank you, Lucas, you’re a genius!” Henry happily declared. Immensely pleased but greatly confused, he watched them do an about face and hurry back into the precinct. 

“You’re … welcome. Any time,” he replied as they retreated. “Glad to help,” he added and walked around the corner into McSorley’s. 


	8. A Masamune Mystery Ch 8 END

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case wraps up but not with as tight a bow as they all would like. Henry recalls The Frenchman's birth name and how he first met her and her parents. He also has some thoughts about his relationship with Jo but is not ready to confront those feelings. Maybe later, he tells himself.

While Henry hurried behind Jo back into the precinct, he shared with her that their purpose might be better served if they drove out to the casino to speak to the owner and employees themselves. She punched the up button on the elevator’s hall lantern and shook her head. 

“No need,” she replied. “We can reach the casino owner on Skype.” The elevator arrived and they got on when the doors opened  and she punched the button for the bullpen’s floor. 

“Skype.” He pressed his lips together and frowned slightly as he settled into the elevator with her. But he had heard either Abe or Lucas mention something like that once or twice. Suddenly, he recalled it was a way to converse with someone with the use of a computer! “Yes, Skype,” he repeated more confidently. 

Jo, however, saw right through his attempt to show familiarity with the process. “Let’s see, you don’t carry a cell phone; you don’t use a computer to file your reports,” she ticked off. “It’s a given that you’ve never used Skype, either.” A knowing smile spread across her face and a chuckle escaped as she watched him mentally prepare himself to volley a reply back  to her. The elevator deposited them on her floor and they walked the short distance to her desk. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to answer,” she told him. While she sat down at her desk and woke up her computer, she said, “Although I have no idea how you manage to get along avoiding technology.” 

“But I do manage,” was all he said. 

She stopped clicking on her keyboard and raised an eyebrow up at him. “Yeah. You’re right about that.” The computer announced with a beep that it had connected via Skype with the other party’s computer. “Grab a seat,” she whispered to Henry, then exchanged greetings with the manager of the Showboat casino, Jillian Hargrave. 

“Sorry to bother you so late,” Jo told her. 

“Oh, no problem,” Jillian replied. “I assume this is about those gambling debts racked up by P. Donaldson?” she asked. Jo replied in the affirmative. “Had a feeling you’d be getting back to me.” 

Jo glanced at Henry then back at Jillian. “We were wondering who that P. Donaldson actually is since our suspect, Parker, has the same first initial as both of his parents.” 

Jillian laughed softly and replied, “It’s actually both of Parker’s parents. It started out innocently enough, a married couple visiting over the weekend and indulging in a little gambling after dinner and a show.” Jillian schooled her features and cleared her throat. “Phillip’s wife, Patricia, soon became quite a regular, showing up on her own. Dropping a bundle each time.” 

“Not Parker’s father, Phillip?” Jo asked. 

“Well, either he or his son would show up after the damage was done,” Jillian replied. “But only to drag her away from the tables. 21,” Jillian clarified with a sigh and a shake of her head. “One day things got ugly. Uglier than any time before. We had to ban her from the casino and we spread the word to our neighboring casinos.” 

“Excuse me,” Henry started. “Our suspect, Parker, claims that he spent years covering for his father’s debts and paying them off. But, according to you, it was actually his mother’s debts.” 

“That’s right, Doctor,” Jillian replied. “Nice lady but some of the nicest, sweetest, most intelligent people  who should know better, make some of the most desperate gambling addicts.” Jillian frowned and asked, “I sure hope that their son, Parker, didn’t kill Hideo.” 

“You knew our victim, Mr. Tanaka?” Henry asked, surprised. 

“Why, yes,” Jillian replied. “He was a frequent visiting gambler, too. His thing was poker but he hit the tables pretty often, too. He racked up more winnings than Patricia did.” 

“Did they appear to know each other?” Jo asked. 

“Sure, they did,” she replied. “Hideo usually had the winning 21 hand while sitting next to Patricia, who sank deeper and deeper into debt. And, it was on that occasion before she was banned from here, that she accused him of cheating --- he hadn’t. Hideo threatened to out her to their artifact-collecting buddies if she didn’t back off. Of course, she didn’t want that so she agreed to the ban in exchange for him keeping quiet about her.” 

“Also, as a courtesy, I presume,” Henry started, “you agreed to list her debts only with a first initial and last name.” 

“As long as they made regular payments on them, which they did,” Jillian replied. 

They thanked Jillian and ended the call. Jo closed down her computer again and she and Henry left the bullpen. As they walked out of the building, they agreed to meet with their suspect the next morning since it had gotten so late. Jo extended the invitation to Henry again to join her at McSorley’s but he declined again. Since he had ridden over from the shop in Jo’s car with her, she felt obligated to drive him back to his home. However, he declined, saying he would hail a cab, leaving her free to join her friends at the bar. 

“Okay, well … g’night, Henry,” she said, tilting her head to side and smiling. “See you in the morning.” 

“Good night, Detective,” he said, returning her smile. “See you in the morning.” 

vvvv 

Early the next morning, Reece and Hanson watched on the other side of the two-way mirror as Henry and Jo, armed with the new information obtained from Jillian Hargrave, questioned Parker Donaldson. It didn’t take long for the professor to cave and admit that it was his mother’s gambling problems that both he and his father had dealt with for years. However, he 360’d on his previous denial of having killed Tanaka. 

“I did it,” Parker said. 

“So, you’re changing your tune and saying you killed Tanaka?” Jo asked. 

“Yes,” he replied. He looked at Henry. “You were right. I did exactly as you said I did.” 

It still did not sit well with Henry that the replicant sword had been used as a murder weapon. “If what you say is true, why use that beautiful, irreplaceable sword as a weapon? And if you wanted it so badly, why didn’t you steal it after killing him?” Henry asked. 

“Yes. Well, I was still so angry with him for outbidding me for it, I figured if he wanted it that badly --- he could have it. Forever.” He scoffed but continued. “Besides, if I had stolen it, it would have led the cops straight to me.” He lowered his eyes to his cuffed wrists and somberly noted, “It led you to me, anyway.” 

“Think he’s really guilty?” Hanson asked Reece. 

“The man confessed,” she replied matter-of-factly. “The evidence points to him, as well. Whether he’s guilty or not is for the courts to decide.” 

“Yeah, but what do  _ you _ think?” Hanson pressed. 

“I think it’s time to let it go and move on to the next case,” she replied. 

vvvv 

Finally, the case was put to bed but not without a certain amount of lingering doubt. Nonetheless, Henry had accepted a ride home from Jo. During the drive, they discussed the strong possibility that the professor’s confession was made in an effort to protect his mother. 

“At the end of the day,” Henry began, “a parent will not allow their child to suffer for their own transgressions. At least, I would not.” 

“I didn’t know you were a parent,” she said. “You have a child?” 

Realizing that he’d let too much escape from his loose lips, he hesitated only slightly before replying, “No. I don’t.” For Abraham was a fully grown man. So, that wasn’t exactly a lie, he told himself just as they pulled up outside the shop and she turned off the engine. 

“What’s going to happen to that beautiful sword?” she asked rhetorically. 

“Well, since our victim was the last owner,” Henry began, “his son, Daniel, now owns it. I’m sure The Frenchman may try to woo it away from him with a generous offer.” 

“Odd that she would want to go through life with such a strange name,” Jo said. “I wonder what her birth name was?” 

Henry didn’t reply right away because he was lost in a memory of when he’d first met the woman. As a child. As a newborn. 

Although her Japanese parents were both naturalized citizens prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor, they had still been herded into an internment camp in New Mexico. After their release from the camp, they had resettled in New York City and opened a vintage furniture store in the same location that now housed The Frenchman’s antique weaponry shop. Henry recalled how, in the spring of 1949, he had been walking by with fresh bagels for Abigail when a frantic man had run out into the streets yelling in Japanese. Henry’s minimal understanding of the language permitted him to learn that the man was asking for help for his wife, who was in labor. Being a doctor, he rushed inside to help, assuring the man as best he could in his own language, that everything would be fine. That he just needed to calm down and help his wife get through this. Long story short, less than 15 minutes later, a bouncing baby girl was born in the upstairs bedroom over the store. Though flattered, he strongly urged the couple not to name her Henrietta after him. 

_ “Henrietta,” _ the parents had happily repeated over Henry’s numerous objections.  _ “Good doctor. Good name.” _

On top of the girl having to wear the female version of his given name for the rest of her life, Henry also regretted having to sign the document that certified her at-home birth. Years later, when he had reconnected with her through his son’s dealings with her in the antique business, he was greatly relieved at her mistaken assumption that he was the grandson of the doctor who’d delivered her. It surprised him to learn that she had legally changed her name from Henrietta Sato to, of all things, The Frenchman. Although her new name choice struck him as being odd, he was nevertheless relieved. Whatever it took to help hide any paper trail that might lead to uncovering his secret was welcomed. 

“Henry?” Jo said, realizing that he was lost in thought again. “You still with me?” she asked, breaking a grin. 

“Yes, yes, Detective, still with you,” he replied, taking in a deep breath and hiding his own grin. 

They bid each other goodnight and he exited the vehicle and unlocked the shop’s door. He hesitated again, momentarily, and watched her drive away. 

A feeling washed over him that reminded him of when he’d first laid eyes on Jo when she’d walked into the morgue a few weeks ago. It also reminded him somewhat of when he’d first met … Abigail. Although it wasn’t love at first sight like it had been with Abigail and him, it still felt nice and warm enough to make him think that one day … maybe … 

He shook the thought out of his head and entered the shop, locking the door behind him. It would do no good, he told himself, to entertain any such thoughts about the detective. Not while he held out hope that his Abigail was alive out there somewhere and would return to him. But as he moved through the shop and ascended the stairs to the second level, something told him to expect his son, from time to time, to voice very different thoughts regarding the lovely Latina. He laughed to himself and called out to his son to announce his arrival. 

vvvvvvvv 

That’s the END. Sorry if it didn’t contain a fight scene where Parker physically resisted in his hotel room and Hanson had to punch him out before cuffing him. Thank you all for following along and for your comments. Stay safe and … breathe.


End file.
